by Stella Riley
‘If you think that,’ said Nancy slowly, ‘I don’t see what the problem is. I can understand that you’ve too much decency in you to ruin an innocent girl. But you don’t have to. What’s to stop you marrying her?’
‘Poverty,’ he replied flatly. ‘That and the fact that you can’t ask a girl who hates war to live from one foreign battlefield to the next. And then, of course, there is the problematical question of my … or no. I’m talking too much. Goodnight, Nan.’
‘Wait.’ She drew a steadying breath and smiled at him. ‘You know, don’t you, that I’ve always had a fancy for you? So don’t go. Stay here and share my bed for friendship’s sake.’
Justin’s face softened and he said, ‘My dear, I really wish that I could. But I thank you with all my heart for the offer.’
There was silence. Then Nancy said quietly, ‘You must love her very much.’
‘Yes. I do. That’s why I can’t discuss it. I’m sorry. Goodnight.’
He entered his room with caution and, finding it empty, silently discarded his clothes and got into bed. It was a little after midnight and he felt extraordinarily wakeful; but sleep was both a military requirement and discipline long since perfected so he finally achieved a fitful and uneasy doze which ended abruptly in a roar of orchestrated cannon-fire.
He catapulted out of bed and over to the window to look out, aware from the grey light in the room that it was already dawn. Then the inner door was jerked open and Abigail shot through it in her night-robe.
‘Justin? What’s happening? It sounded like —’
And there she stopped, frozen into wordless immobility by the mind-cracking discovery that he was naked.
A single glance into her face told Justin that she was too shocked even to think of looking away and somewhere, unrecognised at the back of his mind, was amusement. But his first reaction was a slight, ridiculous flush and his second, to reach for a blanket with a studied lack of haste. Then, with the thing wrapped round his waist, he said carelessly, ‘It’s all right. At a guess, I’d say Colonel Whalley is merely announcing the completion of his lines. But there’s nothing to worry about. He hasn’t enough ordnance to demolish a hen-coop.’
Deceived by his nonchalance, incapable of speech and suddenly flooded with a heat which she took for embarrassment, Abigail took the line of least resistance. She fled.
For a moment, Justin stared after her. And then, without warning, he dissolved into helpless, crippling laughter.
‘Abby?’ he called, unsteadily. ‘Come back.’
Silence.
‘Abby!’ Still sobbing for breath, he opened the door and looked in on her. ‘Don’t be an idiot. Something of the kind was bound to happen sooner or later and it’s my fault for sleeping in the buff. Come on. Smile. I’m not laughing at you.’
She peered at him through the veil of her hair.
‘What, then? What else is there? I’m so ashamed!’
‘Why, for God’s sake?’
‘Because I didn’t turn away or even shut my eyes. I – I just stared!’
‘So?’ he grinned. ‘I’m flattered. I think.’
Indignation swept through her. ‘You’re just too brazen to care.’
‘I’m not. I blushed.’
‘Rubbish!’
‘I did, I promise you.’ His eyes were bright and, for once, carefree. ‘You obviously weren’t looking. Or not in the right place.’
Response tugged at Abigail’s mouth but, before she could speak, the air exploded again in the roar of cannon.
‘I’d better go,’ sighed Justin. ‘It sounds as if it could be a busy day. You, of course, can go back to bed. You may not sleep with this racket going on but at least you’ll be warm.’
He went and Abigail sat gazing into space, harvesting her thoughts. She had been shocked, yes – but only by her own behaviour. She had looked and enjoyed looking; and she’d wanted to walk over and run her hands over the muscles of his arms and shoulders … to lean against him and feel the whole length of his body pressed against hers. Again, and rather stronger, that coil of heat with its sensation of melting, stirred deep down inside her. And this time, she recognised it. So she sat on her bed and pondered and wondered and wished.
The noise from outside disturbed her not at all. And if she was cold, she did not know it.
~ * ~
TWENTY-FOUR
Two days later, Justin led a sortie on the enemy works and returned, charged with euphoric good cheer at four in the morning to find Abigail sitting fully dressed by the fire. Her eyes were stark with fright but she said merely, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Never better. You haven’t been sitting here worrying?’
Her brows rose irritably.
‘Well, of course I have. What do you expect? There’s bread and cold meat if you want it. I’ll go to bed now. Goodnight.’
And she disappeared, leaving him in a state of astonished approval at her lack of fuss. It was only later when he lay in bed that two other notions occurred to him. The first was to wonder how deep her concern for him went. The second was that he couldn’t remember anyone ever worrying about him before; and he thought, ‘Someone who cares. That might be pleasant.’
For some illogical reason, however, he found being near her easier these days and no longer felt impelled to avoid her at all costs. Laughter, it seemed, was remarkably good for one’s sense of proportion and the daily routine of defence, combined with the occasional excitement of a sally, gave him little time to brood on the future.
But the siege, when compared to John Fiennes’ investment of ’44, was a tame affair. February became March and, although he now commanded some three thousand men, Colonel Whalley still lacked the artillery he needed to pose a serious threat and was therefore pursuing his policy of demoralising the garrison with carefully selected bits of news.
In a sense, this worked for, with no other source of information, it was hard for those inside the Castle to know fact from fiction. But while the general trend continued to be one of determined optimism, Justin found no difficulty at all in believing that the King was making simultaneously naïve overtures to both Presbyterian and Independent leaders in the frail hope of having one offer to support him against the other. It was, Justin decided, depressingly typical that, having stumbled into the war almost by accident, Charles should retreat from it in the same untidy manner. But there was no point in repining. The day of reckoning was not – could not be – far off and, in the meantime, they had a castle to keep.
On March 9th, Abigail stood on the ramparts and watched reinforcements file into the camp below. Then, turning, she saw Justin bearing down on her and instinct warned that she was about to be ordered inside.
‘We’ve got a new Colonel,’ she said cheerfully, accustomed now to the way her stomach lurched at his approach. ‘Do we know him?’
‘We do. His name is Rainsborough and he’s one of Sam’s fire-eating Independents. What are you doing up here?’
‘Extending my education.’ She paused. ‘I wonder if Sam has gone yet.’
‘Probably. If he had any sense, he’d have left as soon as the roads cleared. That was the plan, wasn’t it?’
She nodded, her gaze travelling absently across the town.
‘It’s just strange not knowing. We were always so close.’
‘I know.’ He watched her thoughtfully for a moment and then, gesturing to the Parliamentarian camp, said, ‘Is all this hard for you? Do you mind being on the wrong side of the walls?’
She turned, smiling a little.
‘Am I on the wrong side? I hardly know any more. My loyalties are not – have never been – political and I’ve never found anything in either cause to justify this war. I thought you knew that.’
‘I do. But getting unexpectedly caught up in the crossfire might reasonably alter your perspective.’
‘You think I should regret it?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘No.’ Her smile became infinitely sweet.
‘And I wish that you didn’t either. I’m not anxious to leave, Justin. I never was.’
Her words – or rather the possible significance of them - hit him in the stomach and caused him to say incautiously, ‘Then you should be. Or do you imagine that I’m a born monk?’
Just for an instant, his meaning eluded her. Then her breath leaked slowly away and she stared at him in fascinated astonishment.
‘No. I know you’re not. You spend too much time in the north turret for that.’
There was a catastrophic silence while Justin, already cursing himself, tried to put a curb on his tongue and failed.
‘I do not sleep with Nancy Lucas.’
‘Oh.’ Abigail looked down at her hands. ‘Who, then?’
‘No one – and I’m trying rather hard to keep it that way!’ he replied with an air of mild desperation. Then, half-laughing, ‘This is the devil of a conversation.’
‘I know. So perhaps we shouldn’t be having it here.’
‘On the contrary. Here is the only place to have it.’
Considering and faintly wistful, the dark eyes rose to meet his and she said unevenly, ‘Are you saying that you … that you might like to make love to me?’
‘The thought has occasionally crossed my mind,’ he admitted lightly. Every waking hour when I’m not too busy or too tired to think at all. ‘Living as we do, it would be a miracle if it didn’t. But I think what I’m trying to point out is that you’re too trusting and – though I didn’t bring you from one impossible situation to put you in another – it would be nice if I sometimes had a little help.’
‘I see,’ said Abigail vaguely, her mind hopelessly adrift. And then, ‘No. Actually, I don’t see at all. Would it be an impossible situation?’
The shock that rippled through him had nothing to do with the sudden crackle of musket-fire but the latter gave him the excuse to say satirically, ‘You’d better go inside before misfortune over-takes you.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Abigail shortly. And went.
*
The subject was not renewed – mainly because Justin very adroitly made sure that it wasn’t - and for two weeks she brooded over it like a sparrow with a cuckoo’s egg. She had realised a long time ago that, if he ever showed the slightest inclination to take her, she would give herself gladly. Now, however, it was much more than that. She wanted, more than she had ever wanted anything, to be his absolutely; to know the joy of lying in his arms and the delight – however briefly – of believing that he was hers. Her virtue was an empty thing if she could not give it to him and the only time that counted was now, while he was still with her. She neither sought nor expected any kind of commitment from him … just a few precious hours in his bed before it was too late. It did not matter that his desire for her was not as hers for him – that it was transient and probably impersonal. It only mattered that he felt it at all. If she had possessed the remotest idea of how to lure him into forgetting his scruples, she would have done it without a qualm. But she had no such knowledge; and the days sped by bringing Colonel Whalley’s summons to surrender and with it – unbelievably – a note from Samuel announcing his departure.
‘How?’ she asked. ‘How on earth did he do it?’
Justin shrugged. ‘You know Sam. He has an inborn talent for nefarious dealings. Whalley’s ensign delivered it - unsealed, as you see. I’d have brought it up before, only we’ve been rather busy.’
She folded Samuel’s letter in her lap and looked across at him.
‘What happened?’
‘The same as always. Whalley told us we haven’t a hope of holding out or getting relief and asked to be given the Castle before he occasions ‘the effusion of Christian blood’. And Will wrote back that he’d no intention of delivering up his trust to rebels and desired the Colonel to ‘forbear any further, frivolous summons’.’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘The honours are even. We’ll get no help – but unless they get some decent ordnance, we won’t need it.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘Carry on as usual till His Majesty decides to whom he’s going to surrender.’
Abigail thought of the small, sad-faced King.
‘Surrender? Is that what it’s come to?’
‘Yes.’ Justin gazed down at his clasped hands. ‘Belvoir has fallen and Corfe and Lichfield, and his friends are melting away to compound for their estates. He has nothing left to fight with and nothing to offer in the market place. It’s over. All he can do now is choose the time and place to say so.’
Four days later, Colonel Whalley sent in word that Lord Astley’s newly-recruited army of Welsh infantry had been routed at Stow-on-the-Wold on its way to Oxford and the King. It was, Abigail realised, looking at the curiously resigned faces about her, the last straw; the end of the King’s forlorn hope of staving off surrender until help came from France or from Ireland or until Montrose conquered Scotland again.
‘Arrant nonsense!’ said Justin irritably. ‘We might as well wait for the Roundheads to turn Catholic. And two thousand untrained boys against the New Model – what chance could they have?’
*
As little as I do, thought Abigail later as she walked round the confines of the inner ward while Rex trotted about finding interesting smells. This can’t go on. I’m running out of time. I’ve got to do something – but what? And that was when she remembered something Justin had once told her.
She’d asked him about Hannah Rhodes and he’d admitted sleeping with her; against his better judgement, he’d said, and …
I was angry and drunk and she offered herself to me on a plate.
Abigail considered this carefully. Justin drank very little so getting him drunk was neither an option nor, in any case, particularly desirable. On the other hand, if she just used a little cunning, making him angry shouldn’t be so very difficult – which only left the question of how to make a suitably blatant offer. And really, if she couldn’t do that, she shouldn’t be contemplating luring him into bed at all.
She chose an afternoon when she knew he expected to have a few hours of leisure and would therefore come upstairs to wash off the morning’s dirt. Preparation was crucial. He might or might not have eaten and the jug of ale would look less out of place if it sat beside some food. As for her appearance, she chose a gown of Lucy’s that really needed further alteration since, even when laced as tightly as possible, it had an alarming tendency to slide off her shoulders; but the leaf-green taffeta was extremely flattering and the tight-lacing even gave her a hint of cleavage which had to be considered an advantage. After a good deal of thought, she tied her hair up on top her of her head in a ribbon, from which it cascaded back to her shoulders in a riot of not-quite tidy curls. Her reflection in the mirror told her she ought to have some chance of achieving the desired result. Then she heard his footsteps on the stairs, felt all her nerves to into spasm and wondered what on earth she was doing.
Waiting in her room until she heard the door close behind him, she called, ‘There’s bread and cheese and a jug of ale, if you want it.’
And heard him reply, ‘Thank God for that. My throat’s full of dust.’
So far, so good. Just a little longer while he shed his coat, poured some ale and, with luck, sat down. And then …time to let him see her.
Sitting on the bed with a mug of ale in his hand, Justin saw her framed in the doorway and looking – not just utterly delectable – but somehow different. He mistrusted the gown which appeared to reduce her waist to a handspan and was already sliding seductively off one shoulder. He also mistrusted the artlessly tied up hair which more or less demanded that he interfere with it. Swallowing hard, he said, ‘You’re very fine for the middle of the day.’
‘This?’ She picked up a fold of her skirt, then let it fall again with a little shrug which sent the other sleeve astray. ‘I was trying it on to see what might be done with it to stop it falling off me. I’ll change in a minute. Or now – if you’d care to help.’
‘What?’ The word came out in less than his usual tone.
‘My laces have somehow got into a knot.’ She’d made sure they had. ‘I was just fighting with them when you came in.’
‘Oh.’ It sounded reasonable enough but he had his doubts. He also, for reasons of his own, didn’t feel able to go that close to her right now. ‘Later then, if needs be.’
Abigail smiled and sank down on the stool by the hearth.
‘Well, then. I wondered … do you think we might talk?’
‘About what?’
‘A number of things, really. But mainly I hoped we might finish the conversation we were having that day on the ramparts.’
‘Ah.’ Justin suddenly saw exactly where this was going but decided that, since it had to be faced sometime, they might as well get it over with. He said, ‘I wasn’t aware we hadn’t finished it. Certainly, I don’t recall having anything further to add.’
‘No. But I did, you see.’ She kept her hands clasped tightly together, aware that the moment was upon her and hoping she didn’t make a complete mess of it. ‘You gave me to understand that you … that you weren’t averse to s-sleeping with me.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Was it true?’
‘Yes. But it’s not going to happen.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because this situation is temporary and —’
‘I know that. You’ve made it perfectly clear a number of times.’
‘And because I made a promise to your mother and another to myself.’
Abigail tilted her chin and eyed him consideringly.
‘If the promise you made to yourself is the same one you made to my mother, it was that you wouldn’t seduce me. And you haven’t. In fact … in fact it’s the other way about.’ She waited for him to say something; then when he didn’t, she summoned all her courage and walked across to sit beside him. ‘I know I’m not doing it very well … but I’m trying to ask you to – to make love to me.’